


Stick to Your Guns

by rosecolouredglasses



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon-typical swearing, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Ghoulism?, M/M, Other, Sticking Up For Your Friends, The Ultra Luxe Sux, ghoul racism, you get what i mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23830279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecolouredglasses/pseuds/rosecolouredglasses
Summary: Ey y'all gotta love me an old mans-- This is just a drabble I wrote, and I'll probably add more drabbles, and one-shots for the fallout universe here so keep an eye out.
Relationships: Courier/Raul Tejada
Kudos: 10





	Stick to Your Guns

“You really wanna do this here, Mortimer?” The courier’s face is twisted like they tasted something sour, and they might as well have with the front desk manager’s attitude. 

“I’m just saying that I— _we_ have an image to keep up here and and I can’t have that… That _thing_ in this hotel! It’s not good for our image.” His last sentence is quiet and trailed off. Six heard him plenty clear. Their brows creases further, sharp eyes boring into the man with a particular gusto. “I’m sure you can find a place for it to sleep, somewhere outside—“ Their blazing eyes roared into an inferno, taking a huffing breath. Raul looked between the man and his friend, hands twitching by his sides. As if that would so anything for his nervous energy. 

“Ay, Boss its not a big deal.” He breaks the heated silence and Six’s gaze fell to him, face remaining that same ‘I-stepped-in-dog-shit’ look. He pressed what was left of his ruined lips together and said nothing else. He knew better than to interfere once they had their mind set on something. Especially if that something was defending their companions honour. He had a feeling that this was gonna be rather embarrassing for him as soon as they clear their throat and slide their arm around his so the crooks of their elbows locked. 

“Good sir! What do you mean me and my _sweet_ husband and I aren’t allowed at this establishment?” Their voice rang out in the hallways. Raul wanted to shrink up and hide beneath his hat. Some patrons moseying along to turn their heads, masked faces not betraying their expressions. There were some murmurs, but Six continued in their, admittedly convincing, posh accent. “We are but connoisseurs looking to dine at the Gourmand! We’ve been waiting for this reservation for weeks!” They exclaim, face contorting into one of distress. They pulled off the graceful pout of a snob so well it gave him the creeps. “Unless there is some reason you have for denying _paying_ customers, I just cannot fathom what the problem is!” That got other people’s attention, specifically Marjorie’s. 

“Whats seems to be the problem Mortimer?” Her smile is tight lipped and doesn’t make her crow’s feet crinkle. Six turns to the woman with a exasperated flourish, their hand coming up to rest on the top of their chest, in a play to look offended. 

“Oh Ms. Marjorie!” Six interrupts before Mortimer could even open his mouth. “Thank goodness you’re here! I was simply asking for the key that I was _promised_ as a member of the White Glove Society, but this man is saying my husband has no place here!!” If the old ghoul still had cheeks, no doubt he’d be redder than a tato. The hand that rested on their chest came up to rub up and down the arm looped with hers. Marjorie sent a scathing look Mortimer’s way, before flashing a placating smile at the courier. 

“My deepest apologies, dear member, you and your husband will be set up with a fine room and an excellent dinner.” Marjorie solemnly promised, bowing slightly. Mortimer was fuming, his face red, though his face was schooled quickly into neutral, apologizing to Raul andSix for the ‘misunderstanding’. Six thanked Marjorie as she led them both to their room for the night, to which the woman smiled a little more genuinely, leaving them for the night after confirming reservations for the gourmand. 

Six sighed in relief, their stiff posture causing their knees to crack as soon as they flopped down on the plush bed. “Ugh… I hate their snobby asses. Can’t wait ’til our investigation is done.” They murmur, voice relaxed now that they were alone. The ghoul stewed in his thoughts for a moment, the place where his brows would be pushing together. “Hey Raul, you look like you’re gonna pop your damn eyeballs out if you keep making that face.” He snaps back into the present as soon as his name is spoken. He rubs the back of his neck, a familiar sheepish motion. 

“Sorry Jefe, I just,,, you didn’t have to stick up for me like that. I would’ve been fine headin’ back to the Lucky 13.” Six sighed, face pinching together once more as she rolls onto her front and faces where he’s seated on the chair across from her. 

“It’s about principle, viejo.” They say simply, already exasperated from reiterating the same thing they always told him when he was insulted and they decided to make a scene. Raul huffed a laugh to himself. ‘Principle’. He tipped his hat down over his eyes, hiding his fond smile poorly, though they say nothing. If Six's rather content hum is anything to go by, they’re rather pleased with themself. 

**Author's Note:**

> Spanish Translations
> 
> Jefe - Boss   
> viejo - old man but also used as a term of endearment like "pal" 
> 
> we love them double entendres 
> 
> and Six could be Latino or Raul taught them that lol


End file.
